More Than Sister
by Quicksilvre
Summary: [One-Shot] The last few years have been long for Summer. When she loses everything, can anyone bring her back? Somewhat fluffy.


More Than Sister

Quicksilvre

Note: I do not own the O.C. or anything else associated in this story. Please, don't sue me; I'm just doing this for a hobby.

-)-)-)-)

Peering out over the water, Summer swirled her drink and took a mouthful. It was a little early for hard liquor, as sunset was just beginning, but she just needed a little lift. Besides, she wasn't nearly as bad as she had been before. She had never gotten to the point of being an alcoholic, but she came close. But, she had gotten help from the right people and got back on track.

She swirled her drink again idly, remembering how she was the year before. She had flunked out of a whole semester at UCLA and nearly got expelled for having a kegger on campus for pre-grads. Sandy stepped up to defend her, thank God, and promised the administrators that she would be caught with drinks, much less be caught giving any to minors. A fine line to walk, but it was much better than delivering pizza for a living.

Sandy was always there. Kirsten too; she was always there for a helpful ear and a shoulder to cry on. Summer was her daughter now, almost. They couldn't be even mother- and daughter-in-law, but they could be surrogates and it made them both happy. It had seemed to Summer, after she knew Seth's family more, that Kirsten always wanted a daughter–not desperately or anything, but was eager to take Summer in as such when Summer needed it.

Sandy was the same way, as a father. After her real father died, Sandy was the one to fill the void, doing everything from defending her against the school to driving her home after dentist appointments to feeding her barbecued turkey on Thanksgiving. It was, after all, natural that she would join Seth's family after her own nosedived. Even the relationship between her and Ryan grew stronger. Before, he and Summer were only joined through Marissa, but now they were around each other enough to be friends in their own right.

Kirsten, Sandy, Chino...and her sister.

Her more than sister.

As wonderful as the Cohens had been to her, as much as they were in Summer's heart...they were no substitute for her most cherished friend.

Summer had heard stories of friends who started out as playmates in their cribs, then went to kindergarten and school together, then college, then became each other's bridesmaids...they didn't know each other for nearly that long. It felt that long, though. She couldn't imagine living life without her–could barely recall how things were before she met her.

She swirled her drink again and sipped the last bit. At first, she considered mixing another for herself before she headed off, but she decided against it. She would be a good girl, at least for tonight. Her more-than-sister would be very unhappy if Summer showed up drunk.

After all, she was the one who kept Summer from destroying herself. As much as Sandy and Kirsten could do, they could do only so much. Parents were parents, through and through. Sisters were sisters.

She was there when Summer's father passed. She sat next to her in the hospital waiting room, stood next to her when the news came, and drove her home–she even stayed the night, just to make sure Summer wouldn't do anything drastic. She kept the sleeping pills hidden and all of the alcohol under lock and key. She had to do all of Summer's cooking for a week–Summer was not allowed to hold anything more dangerous than a butter knife.

Of course, there was one dinner of grilled cheese, another dinner of spaghetti, and five more of takeout. Summer liked that recipe the best–picking up the phone and dialing the number. Great Chinese was only seven digits away.

Seth was there too, of course. But he was useless as a cook. The guy on the other side of the line would _always_ ask him to repeat the order. Seth really needed to stop mumbling when he ordered in. Sad, but true. But his tuna sandwiches were tasty. They made Summer re-evaluate Russian salad dressing in her mind.

And Zach was there too. The three of them were there in the house after school, stayed for dinner, and often slept overnight. And, when the day of the funeral rolled around, they were there to flank him–Zach holding her up on one side, Seth on the other, and her sister providing moral support and tissues.

There were never enough tissues. Summer went to both the wake and the funeral looking like a dignified young woman, and left both wishing she had brought an extra blouse to replace the one she soaked with tears. She had no idea that a person could cry that much in a lifetime, much less an afternoon. But just when she ran into the bathroom and locked herself into a stall, hoping her existence could end right there...when she spent a minute too long in there, her more-than sister would be right there, talking soothingly to her through the door, and a couple minutes and a touch of makeup later, she could face the world again.

She was OK within a couple of weeks. Summer's godparents let her live on in the house, and she was all set to inherit most of the estate when she turned eighteen. It looked like she would be set. She finished the last few months at Harbor School, graduated, and got accept to college. Life returned to almost-normal.

Zach had to move out. His dad was moving on up to Washington, and he insisted Zach would attend Johns Hopkins. Zach had a scholarship; he was obligated. There wasn't much either of them could do–Summer's grades weren't good enough to go there too, nor was she ready to start over three thousand miles away.

The day after Zach left, Seth called and asked her out for a milkshake. They were in Summer's bed that night.

-)-)-)-)

The sun was sitting right on the horizon. As Summer walked down the boardwalk to the restaurant, a light breeze came and played around with her hair, blowing it across her face. She brushed it away and kept her pace. It was a mile from her house to the restaurant, and she wanted to make sure that she would get there first. She had timed everything exactly–she would get there in twenty minutes and arrive five minutes before her sister.

The wind blew her hair around more, and Summer let her mane settle where it would. As long as her hair stayed out of her mouth, she wasn't bothered by it.

She remembered how it was, the day she got the phone call from Kirsten. That day was exactly the same–cooler, but the breeze was exactly the same. That day, Summer would brush her hair back whenever it left its place. It was back when she was determined to keep appearances–hair in the right place, a chic sweater on her shoulders, and new heels on her feet. Her life was parties and Jimmy Choo.

And then the phone rang.

"_Hello?"_

"_Oh my God, Summer, your cell has been busy all day."_

"_Kirst–Mrs. Cohen, what's wrong?"_

"_It's Seth. You have to get to the hospital right now."_

Summer could never remember how she got from the beach to the hospital waiting room. She couldn't remember most of that day; just Kirsten running up to her, hugging her, and a few words: "Swimming...sank...heart...drowned..."

Summer had always wanted to smash the damn boat when he left for Portland. This time, he had slipped off and it had drifted away, not that far–maybe fifty feet. He'd swum that far a thousand times before. He just gave away. No warning–he started toward it, his heart stopped, he gasped, and he sank. The lifeguard saw him, but he didn't get there in time.

Cohen was there, and then Cohen was gone. It was as simple as that. Simple and sudden and perverse and fucking unfair. The bastards on the water polo team were all probably going to live to be 90 and they weren't a thousandth as caring or accepting or as comforting or as..._good_ as Cohen.

The eulogies at the funeral all said he was needed more elsewhere. That was the worst part, for Summer–someone telling her that Cohen had some big project in the afterlife. As if he had an emergency comic to draw or if Heaven needed one more tiny sailboat captain.

"Fuckers," she decided, whispering herself. She was halfway there. She sat on a bench, facing the ocean, just to rest her feet for a second.

The night after the funeral was her nadir. Her step-mom had been on Valium–she'd been messed up for years and years–and Summer knew that she had a secret stash squirreled away somewhere, just in case it was hard to find a new doctor that would be willing to give her a refill. Summer had it in her hands two minutes after she started looking. It was gigantic, filling an entire Thermos.

She carried it back to her room, got a drink, and poured a pile onto her bed. Summer took a deep breath, filled her hand, and slowly poured the pills in. The whole handful disappeared, four and five at a time, with a sip of soda in between each. The pills were old; she had already finished her first handful and was halfway though the second before she began to feel any ill effects.

It was just a little dizziness at first. It wasn't so bad; Summer was able to swallow two more batches. Suddenly, she saw black and white spots in front of her eyes. She reached over for a few more pills, but she felt herself sway and abruptly found herself lying on the floor.

"Oh shit...oh shit...ohhh, this is bad..." Summer was able to pick herself up just enough to reach her cell phone and hit the auto-redial button.

"Hello? Hello?" Her more than sister.

"Yeah? Uh...I took some pills and–"

"Oh my God! Summer! I'm calling 911. I'll be right there. Ohhhhh god, hold on until I get there."

"Yeah." The black spots were getting bigger. "Thanks."

-)-)-)-)

The doctors were able to pump her stomach just in time. Stomach-pumping lead to rehab, which lead to her missing a semester. Missing a semester lead to depression. Depression lead to boozing and parties. Boozing and parties lead to more rehab. Summer knew she could have died at a half dozen points.

There were times where she wouldn't have minded that much at all. Her father was growing more distant, and she was never that close to her step-mom. The Cohens tried heroically to take her in, but it was too painful for Summer. The Casa Cohen was filled to the brim with memories. The front hall where she came at Thanksgiving, grabbing him by the collar and licking his tonsils with impunity. The pool house where she and Seth first really made out right after, and where she showed him the Wonder Woman outfit at Christmas.

And his room. She couldn't get within twenty feet of it without getting knock-kneed or bursting into tears. As hard as they tried, the Cohens just couldn't take the pain away.

Her sister could. Whenever Summer needed her, she would show up. She could be there to talk, to study with, to cook radiator s'mores, to be anything Summer needed her to be, twenty-four-seven.

Her best role was shoulder to cry on. She had the patience of a saint with Summer–with one call, she would drive over and be there in five minutes, to sit on Summer's couch and be a pillow for four hours. No strings attached and nothing asked in return.

Sometimes Summer would be too overwhelmed to even speak. She once called her sister at 3:30 after school, answered the door in tears, and kept crying straight until midnight. Her sister let Summer lean on her, let Summer wipe her face on her new top, let Summer scream about how unfair it all was–she wouldn't do anything except hug her and brush the hair out of Summer's face. And that was all Summer needed.

Bit by bit, this was how Summer Roberts recovered. Within a year, she had gone up and down countless times, but she survived, and returned to class. Life would have to go on without Seth. Summer had accepted that. With the Cohens, Chino, and her more-than-sister, life was still worth living.

Summer was ready for anything. Then, her more-than-sister fell apart at the seams.

-)-)-)-)

Ryan's brother had already asked him to go back to Chino on the Thanksgiving after Ryan appeared in Newport. Of course, Trey had asked him to take a stolen car to a chop shop, resulting in Ryan nearly getting the crap beaten out of him. No one ever knew what Trey said to make him go back.

Whatever it was, it worked. The Cohen's didn't know until the next morning, when they found the pool house empty and a hastily-scrawled note left on Sandy's surfboard. They worried, and as the day went by and lunch and dinner passed, their worry snowballed. By nine the police had been notified and the Chino cops began sweeping the town.

Ryan was found in a couple of hours. He had been beaten into a bloody mass, evidently doing another chore for Trey. Someone saw him and decided to settle an old grudge. There wasn't much the police could do; all of the fingerprints on and around Ryan were broken up and no weapon was ever found. They just brought him in to the hospital and hoped he could name names.

Summer was there, as was her more-than-sister–especially her sister. After all, there hadn't been anything romantic between Summer and Ryan, except for her pawing at him the first night he was in town. Ryan and her sister were the ones that were tight–inseparable, even. They had already started saying things like "when we get married."

"When we get married, we'll need to get a place in the numbered streets."

"When we get married, it ought to be someplace other than Caleb's country club."

"When we get married, we should start off with a dog. Then we can graduate to a kid."

It never happened. Two days after he was admitted and with Summer and her more-than-sister next to him, Ryan's pulse and blood pressure swooned. The doctor's rushed in and did what they could, but it wasn't enough.

Summer though she was a wreck when Seth died. She couldn't imagine anyone having more grief or more tears to shed–especially her sister. Her sister, after all, had been the pillar of stability the whole time. But when Ryan died, it was like a plate smashing into concrete. Summer's more-than-sister melted down at the hospital, had to be carried into a cab to get home, then showed up at the Cohens' in the middle of the night and locked herself in the pool house.

Summer and the Cohens pleaded for her to leave, to eat, to talk–to do anything. The more-than-sister was completely despondent. She drew all the shades and closed all the windows, creating a tiny cocoon. No one could hear anything for inside except for occasional sobbing. Every meal and snack they brought to her was sent back untouched–when they managed to get anything into the pool house in the first place.

By the tenth day, when the Cohens began to suspect the pool house would soon become a death chamber, Summer took matters into her own hands. The situation had been reversed just months before, and she knew how much she needed to repay her more-than-sister.

_She knocked on the door. "Hello?"_

"_Go away, please."_

"_No."_

"_Please." Her more-than-sister's voice cracked._

"_I have a pair of handcuffs right here. If you don't start talking in ten seconds, then I'm breaking a window and cuffing myself to the cold water pipe until you leave."_

"_Oh, Summer."_

"_You know how it was for me with Seth."_

"_So what?"_

"_Listen." Summer tried fruitlessly at the doorknob. "I need to see you."_

"_Well, I don't need to see you."_

_The words stung, but Summer followed through anyway. "I love you. You know that. I love you dearly, and there will be hardly anyone left for me if you're gone."_

"_You'll have the Cohens."_

"_You do too."_

_A long pause. Fifteen seconds passed in silence, then thirty. "You have the Cohens and your parents and you have me too. Let me in there."_

_Summer put her ear against the door. For a moment no sound came from inside, but then the sofa squeaked, and footsteps approached the door._

The first few days were the most painful. Summer insisted that her more-than-sister move into her dorm with her and her roommate. Summer made her eat, even if it had to be one bite of pizza at a time. It was a slow process to bring her back around, but every day they both made it through and every pound her more-than-sister regained was a small victory.

A month later, her sister had recovered enough to return home. That didn't last too long. The Cohens insisted in taking them both in. Her more-than-sister accepted; while flattered, Summer declined. She knew that something was still missing.

Summer still needed to find herself.

That was a year ago. Now, she is a communications major, DJ at the USC radio station, future FM diva. She wasn't Seth's girlfriend or her more-than-sister's friend or the Cohens' daughter, bless them all. She was Miss Summer Roberts of Newport Beach. She had a head on her shoulders and strong legs under her. Even if she lost someone else, she could support herself as a person.

And the more she could support herself, and the less she needed her more-than-sister, the more they loved each other. They started from different universes, and there was not a drop of common blood between them, but they were true sisters.

-)-)-)-)

Summer made it to the restaurant–a couple of minutes later than she wanted, but still early. She greeted the waitress. "Hello!"

"Are you here in a party of two?"

"Yes..."

"Your friend beat you here. She's over in the booths."

"Oh!" Summer followed the server to her more-than-sister's booth. They greeted each other with smiles.

"Hey, Summer, how's you?"

"Pretty good." Summer sat herself down. "You?"

"All right, I guess. The humidity is killing my hair." Her more than sister threw a handful of red locks over her shoulder. "It's fizzing out like crazy."

"No, it's not. It looks good."

"Yes it is. Don't you see this?"

"Oh, Lindsay. You're always soooo cute." Summer pinched her more-than-sister's cheek.

"Ah, stop!" Giggling, Lindsay pushed Summer's hand away. "We are going to have to act like adults in public someday."

"Sure. Someday." Summer opened up a menu. "We have plenty of time to grow up."

**END**


End file.
